


Tell Me How

by thisislegit



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Confessions, Feelings Realization, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisislegit/pseuds/thisislegit
Summary: Jigen held out the blade with the slice on it and waited for Goemon to take it. A sliver of juice ran down the edge meeting a gnarled knuckle before Goemon took the offering. It wasn’t as sweet. Juice ran down the corners of his lips from the first bite. He caught drops from his chin into his palm and hurried to put the rest of the fruit into his mouth as if that would retract the blunder. Jigen let out a few huffs of breath he recognized as laughter, and the sweetness in Goemon’s mouth grew. He watched Jigen repeat the action eating a slice of peach for himself. Goemon stared at the bit of juice dribbling down into Jigen's beard before he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his own hands.
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Tell Me How

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd

“What is this?”

Words slipped from Goemon’s lips before he could stop them. Hidden by the shade of the peach tree, Goemon sat with his legs folded under him on the grass and his back propped up against the rough bark. The grooves and bumps did nothing to tug at the fabric of his shirt but made his spine rumble with every subtle shift as he adjusted. Rays from the sun tried to weave their way through gaps the leaves provided. Every beam was saved for the fruit that sat fat enough to sink branches but not enough to fall. It was hot. Hot enough to bake clay, to burn skin, and ,as Jigen had done for a joke earlier that morning, to cook an egg on the sidewalk. A waste of food to prove a point Goemon had never argued.

Jigen sat beside him. Not an unusual scene. No matter how much time had passed between seeing each other it felt like both the first time and returning home to sit beside his partner. His friend. The black brim of his hat was dusted with dirt after a tussle with the branches to get a peach of his own. His jacket had been shed revealing patches of sweat which made the seams of his button down hug his sides. His normally pristine shoes were a bit scuffed and smeared with stray dandelion seeds.

“It’s a peach. They ain’t pink here.” Jigen had a switchblade in one hand bearing a slice of skinned peach on the metal, and the rest of the peach in his other hand.

“That is not what I was asking.”

Jigen held out the blade with the slice on it and waited for Goemon to take it. A sliver of juice ran down the edge meeting a gnarled knuckle before Goemon took the offering. It wasn’t as sweet. Juice ran down the corners of his lips from the first bite. He caught drops from his chin into his palm and hurried to put the rest of the fruit into his mouth as if that would retract the blunder. Jigen let out a few huffs of breath he recognized as laughter, and the sweetness in Goemon’s mouth grew. He watched Jigen repeat the action eating a slice of peach for himself. Goemon stared at the bit of juice dribbling down into Jigen's beard before he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his own hands.

Goemon listened to the bite of the knife cutting into the flesh of the peach while he observed. The branches on the tree were long and their edges dipped low as if making a cove of the tree’s trunk. A glint of metal. A drip of juice. Goemon held a hand up at the slice. The blade was taken away, and the smacking of lips followed.

“What were you asking about?”

Goemon inhaled through his nostrils and spoke as he exhaled, “Feelings.”

Without looking, he knew Jigen’s hand flinched. It was a touchy subject. Not taboo, but not something either brought up in the other’s company when times were peaceful. Feelings were not relaxed. Not for people like them with jobs that carried an understood kill or be killed undertone. Not to be focused on for the pair who basked in an adrenaline rush that danger could provide. Not to be discussed with one man trying to master a craft that required no intrusive thoughts and the other who shoved everything into a bottle and put it in a crate never to be opened.

Another slice of fruit. Another bite of it’s flesh before Jigen asked, “What kind?”

“Remember my first question.”

“Ah, right.”

Goemon closed his eyes. This was as far as he should go with the topic. A single step further would drift into unknown territory. He couldn’t scout ahead. He couldn’t monitor overnight. There was no floor plan to follow or case file to read. So, he kept his eyes closed and he breathed. Equal breathing. Inhale for five seconds, exhale for another five. Inhale. The wind rustled the leaves shielding them. Exhale. A muffled curse from his side. Inhale. A bump against his shoulder. Exhale. The touch was fleeting. Inhale. A thunk. A peach must’ve fallen. Exhale. There’s a touch to his elbow. Goemon opens one eye to see a peach slice being offered. He takes it.

“I always look forward to our conversations.” Goemon eats the fruit before he can say more. He’s said too much.

“Really? You never say much.”

“I like listening…to you.”

Jigen’s hands are going through the motions. Half of the peach is gone. This conversation is impossible. Goemon is no coward, but he knew whether it was his words or his silence that nothing would change once they left the sanctity the peach tree provided.

“I like that you trust me though I have done nothing to earn it.”

Jigen ate a slice for himself.

“Your perspective is grounding.” Goemon folded his handkerchief to keep from wringing it with wrinkles. Each corner was tucked in with care. “I am happy when you accomplish something. The scale of these things are irrelevant.”

“That’s cause sometimes it’s saving your ass.”

“You do not like this conversation.”

Jigen set the switchblade onto his thigh and stroked his bearded chin. “I’m not sure if I wanna know where it’s going.”

“I am not sure either.”

The feeling was unfamiliar in that it was insidious in nature. Goemon’s behavior didn’t outwardly change, but his moods bore a mild shift. There was a level of comfort he’d gained that threatened to have him spill more than he would to anyone else. With that came brief images or ideas he never dwelt on. The issue behind them was more their frequency than their benign content. Before they left, he knew he’d think about their time under the peach tree, his thoughts would tweak the events here and there to give him something that was never to be. He knew it would happen. Goemon knew.

“Jigen.”

Jigen’s eyes were hidden by the shadow the brim of his hat provided. Had it been a few years earlier, Goemon might think such an expression was hard to read. The fact that it wasn’t proved another danger for this conversation, but he was going to brave it.

“Jigen, what is this?”

“If I say it, you won’t like it.”

“If I say it, you will run.”

“What makes you think I’ll run?” Jigen picked up the blade again peeling more of the fruit. 60% gone and counting. His hands were always occupied. Behind his head, in his pockets, holding a cigarette, cleaning his gun, cradling a glass, on and on. Sticky fingers which pocketed cash as fast as they loaded bullets held out another slice to Goemon.

“You always have.” Goemon’s fingers were tacky with sugary peach juice and there was no relief his handkerchief could give. The residue stuck into the crevices between his fingers as he recalled all the men and women he’d managed to meet or hear about from Jigen’s past. The man was a romantic at heart, and all of his romances up til this point ended in tragedy.

“You don’t trust me.”

Goemon smiled, “It is exactly because I trust you that I know you will run.”

“Then why’re you smiling?”

“Because it always ends like this, does it not.”

“You’re nuts.” Jigen’s stopped cutting at the fruit. The peach sat in his hand, it’s pit a stark brown against the soft orange flesh. “You’re nuts.” The repetition sounded more exhausted than the first.

On the tip of his tongue sat an apology, but Goemon bit it back. He wasn’t going to apologize for this. Technically, he’d said nothing. Technically, he’d said everything. The implication heavy enough to throw either of them off their rhythm until it morphed into a passing thought. Even so, an apology still didn’t feel appropriate.

“Thank you…for helping me put a name to it.”

“Goemon.”

Goemon held his hand out for another peach slice still looking towards the drooping branches when a sticky hand grabbed his wrist.

“Goemon, I c-.”

“Don’t.”

Jigen’s mouth clamped shut.

“I did not ask for your response.” Goemon didn’t want it either as odd as it sounded.

The hesitance, the exhaustion, the absence of an answer was all he needed to come to his own conclusion. He’d never been in the best position to ask for Jigen’s response. He didn’t want empty words. Empty promises. A sting of rejection that would repeat in his mind until he could shrug it off. It was easier to imply. It was easier to pretend there was no gap to jump. No place to fall. No wounds to heal. Perhaps this would be enough. The sticky hand let go of his wrist, and another gust sent a heavy peach to the ground with a thunk. The bruise in it’s skin large as it’d struck a root sticking up from the dirt upon landing.

Another peach slice was placed on the bridge of Goemon’s fingers, and he ate it if only to keep himself from saying anything else. He wouldn’t ask for more. Cicadas screamed in the distance. Goemon didn’t need to ask for more. He breathed against the tightening of his throat. Hardened himself to fight the familiar hollow feeling in his chest, and ate the last offered slice of peach in silence. The pit was tossed aside.

“Got some lemons that are gonna go bad soon. Was thinking some peach lemonade might help fight the heat.” Jigen never had a hard time changing subjects unless he was angry. So, despite the change, Goemon was relieved to know anger didn’t spur from the exchange.

“I will juice the lemons then.” Goemon stood from his spot on the ground. “We cannot have your carpal tunnel acting up before a job.”

“I do not have carpal tunnel!” Jigen followed suit making sure to step over the fatly bruised peach.

Goemon did not comment on the nudge of Jigen’s scuffed dress shoe so the fruit was cradled under the thick root it’d struck. However, Goemon thought about it as they returned to the little hideout and the sanctity it’s irregular air conditioning provided.

Combined with the whir of the blender mashing peaches into a slurry pulp, boiling water shifting into a sugar syrup, and the puttering of the fiat coming down the road, like clockwork, Goemon’s mind betrayed him by tweaking their exchange under the peach tree. He thought of Jigen setting his hat aside instead of hiding under it. He thought of Jigen taking his hand instead of grabbing his wrist. He thought of Jigen giving him that easy smile instead of the tired but nervous back and forth. He thought of the warm feeling that might’ve come from those gestures. But mostly, he thought of lying his head on Jigen’s shoulder, eating slices of the bruised fallen peach Jigen would cut for him until the stray rays of sun threatened to burn his sandaled feet.

Because they both knew it wouldn’t last long otherwise being both vulnerable and exposed to the harsh elements of nature.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the song tell me how by paramore which i was listening to as i reread this trying to catch spelling mistakes(that i definitely missed and will catch maybe a month from now), so yeah, thank you for reading, any comments are SUPER appreciated


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